


Miss Pauling and the Long Dark Night of the Soul

by PreludeInZ



Series: The Morbid, Macabre, and Myriad Adventures of Miss Edith Amelia Pauling [9]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Overwork, fixation with that purple truck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:27:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreludeInZ/pseuds/PreludeInZ





	Miss Pauling and the Long Dark Night of the Soul

Miss Pauling loved her job. That was a fact. She needed that to be a fact. It was her  _code,_ her mantra, at the end of a long,  _long_  day.

Pulling into her driveway, sagging in the driver’s seat. She spent so much time in her truck. She loved her truck, it was a perk of the job. But the suspension was on its way out, it rattled when it drove. She couldn’t go anywhere without feeling a little frazzled by the end of the trip. Driving her scooter was unnerving, but at least it didn’t leave her feeling shaken to bits. And the radio had started to go on fritz. She was going to need to find the time to get her truck looked at. Miss Pauling sighed, clambered out of the truck cab.  _I love my truck and I love my job._

Shaking out the hose attached to the outside of her garage, still warm from the sun’s heat during the day, even though it was long since dark. Turning the squeaking handle of the tap, and washing all of the old dried blood out of the back of her pretty purple truck. She mentally noted that she needed to change her oil, there’d been a cloud of blue smoke following her the whole way home. Rusted red water dripped out of the truck bed, ran over her shoes and soaked her feet through her nylons. _I love my job_.

Her nylons. They were more runs than they were shimmery sheer fabric, she’d splurged on them. Control top, the toes reinforced. Little faux lace garters mid-thigh. Not that it had done any good. They weren’t comfortable, but she was a professional, and the mercs had their uniforms. She had hers. She put an entire hand through one of the more egregious holes in her stockings, and sighed as she looked them over, then dropped them into the trash.  _I love my job, but I wish the cost of **my**  clothes got subsidized._

The trash. She was halfway undressed, nylons discarded and skirt crumpled on the floor, looking forward to a hot, relaxing shower. But the trash had to go out. Taking out the trash was her job. Sometimes little bits of her job bled over into her life. Her job was a little bit becoming her life.  _I love my job I love my job I love my job_.

Miss Pauling paused. Took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Sighed. Then she shook herself. Back to that last little bit of work. Tied off the top of the garbage bag, said a sad farewell to her expensive nylons. Didn’t bother tugging her skirt back on, as she hauled the trash bag out of the can, went to bring it outside, to the curb. Left wet footprints, a little bit bloody, as she walked down her driveway in the warmth of New Mexico, only a couple hours before dawn.

The trashbag split along the bottom, just before she could drop it at the curb, splashing in the wet, the runoff of water from her truckbed, pooled at the side of the street outside her house.

Some days, she really hated her job.


End file.
